No Good Deed
by queenmab-scherzo
Summary: In a scene that can take place anywhere before or after Reloaded, we find out the Twins are more than just bodyguards, assassins, and saboteurs for the Merovingian. Who are we to assume that he only lusts after women? Oneshot. Mature content. Sorry.


**AN**: The point of this story is to explore a what if...? and to delve into the Twins' relationship, connection, and interaction. (I know, I'm going to hell for this no matter how innocent I make myself sound.) Anyway, the premise: it is generally accepted in fandom that the twin ghosts in Reloaded served as bodyguards or assassins or some such occupation. But what if they do a few more, ah, adult favors for the Merovingian? It's a job, people. Did I mention I'm going to hell?

Oh--and it's my first Matrix fic. In fact I've never written more than one story for the same fandom. Hmmm. Yet.

**Disclaimer**: The Matrix and all related items and persons that appear here belong to the Wachowski Brothers. Not me. It would be a miracle if I even saw them from a distance.

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_Le Vrai_ was experiencing an extremely good afternoon for business. It teemed with customers, including, at the top table, the Merovingian. He had invited several guests for a long meal, including a smartly-dressed Italian named Giancarlo, his brother, a tall black man who didn't eat much, and a squat broker who seemed to regard everyone in the room as a potential customer. Two tall bodyguards, identical in every aspect, from any angle and outfitted in palest silver and white, were nestled in an alcove to the right of their employer. Nearly a dozen other expendable bodyguards were clustered to his left.

The affair was lengthy, refined, and uneventful. If they had been programed with the abillity, the twins might have fallen asleep from lack of activity. As it was, they only chose to partake in the same fine French wine as the Merovingian--and in fact they were never known to eat much.

Two, seated on his brother's right, occasionally commented on the wine, the food, or the waiter. One dropped a few snide remarks and complaints about their apparently unavoidable ennui. For the most part, though, they seemed not to communicate.

When the first dessert course arrived, the black man was not afraid to express his distaste. It seemed he was not a fan of French cooking, and was also probably not accustumed to keeping such opinions to himself, certainly not for as long as he had. (One felt faintly impressed that he'd acted so courteously thus far; Two smirked at the thought.)

While the Merovingian responded, the twins were suddenly distracted by a disturbance near the restaurant's entrance. They turned simultaneously toward the potential threat and saw that a heated argument at a far table was ending badly; a young woman had stood, flung her napkin on the floor, and left in an angry flurry of clicking heels. The twins were slightly let down that it had been nothing more dangerous.

When they turned back, the Merovingian was standing, leering at them. He inclined his head humbly and asked, his voice sickly sweet, "May we...request your presence?"

One smirked.

The Merovingian, the two Italian men, and the large African-American bore expressions varying from suspicious to lascivious.

The guests, who had never dined with the Frenchman and had probably never even seen him in person, had at first been rather obviously--and understandably--distracted by the twins' appearance. While the meal progressed, the twins had melted into the background, as usual, and as intended, but were now again an object of heightened interest. They exchanged the quickest glance before One stood gracefully, adjusted his coat, and followed the Merovingian out of the hall. The twins were well aware that they and their services to him were interchangeable; in fact it was unlikely he even bothered telling them apart. It was their own decision, then, to take turns with their employer.

Two sat back and noticed one of the bodyguards quickly stifle his friend's laughter, and noticed the dark look Persephone threw the retreating group of men.

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The Merovingian went first, as usual, and in his time with One, did nothing unexpected. Of course, One had to enjoy his job on some level, or he and his brother would not have lasted long working under the Merovingian; besides, as he and the Frenchman were both rather proud and accomplished lovers, there was rarely anything to be disappointed in. Furthermore, the twins had learned that, at such a distance, any distress one of them experienced was often shared very easily and unintentionally with the other.

Furthermore, they were both virile, obedient, and incredibly attractive, and it didn't hurt that they were a threesome waiting to happen. They fit the occupation nicely, especially since they rarely had any reason to object.

One smiled into the embroidered pillowcase as the Merovingian enjoyed himself.

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The twins were often far more alert than they let on and usually became even more paranoid when separated. Therefore, though Two looked quite at ease in the alcove behind the Merovingian's dining table, he had so far taken note of nearly every movement that had occurred in the restaurant--unnecessarily, yes, but it took his mind off his brother's severance and eased the anxiety it caused.

It didn't help that the conversation at the dinner table didn't interest him much. Persephone had entered a polite debate over French versus Italian cooking; two of the lowlier bodyguards were heatedly discussing the attractive brunette three tables over; and the stock broker had gotten the attention of Giancarlo's wife and begun throwing so many complex business terms at her that her expression was growing thoroughly uncomfortable and disinterested. Two also suspected that one of the newer, scrawnier bodyguards was sharing his opinion on One's absence. It was unclear whether he knew the reason and chose unwisely to gossip over it, or had just entered into innocent speculation, but Two took note, either way.

A feeling of disquiet had begun to come over him, which was quickly becoming hard to ignore, and he scanned the vast room several times for its source. It gradually became apparent, though, that the acute sense of unease he felt was not his own. This information didn't relieve him; on the contrary, he began to experience an excruciating concern for his brother. When he started to lose his breath, it took all of his power to remain seated; his lungs were not filling properly; he stuffed the urge to yell, or to walk away, to find One.

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"You like that, don't you? You like that?" the large man's steady stream of taunts flowed with the rhythm he'd established, rocking into the twin, in and out--One spluttered and grabbed the arm that was strangling him. The black man's only response was to speed up.

"Make me come," he growled. "Can't breath? Make me come."

One scrabbled at the man's back, his arms, but was unable to make a sound. His mouth opened and shut repeatedly, but no air passed through. White fingernails dug into dark skin.

The rhythm became desperate, frenzied, and so did the protests. The aggresor's words were unintelligible now as he glared possessively down at his partner, who glared back. One thought to reach for the man's throat, but his hand didn't seem to want to follow directions. His eyes started to water.

Finally, the larger man gave a shuddering groan, his body stiffened, and his eyes burst open with pleasure.

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Having melted into the background as usual, Two went largely unnoticed by the rest at the dinner party, until suddenly he gave a loud, sharp gasp, as though coming up for air after too long underwater.

Everyone whipped around to face him, alarmed: The other bodyguards, Persephone, her guests' wives. Most of the bodyguards kept their gazes upon the twin, their looks a combination of confusion, contempt, and wariness; in their occupation, they were all under strict orders not to make any kind of interruptions, and either of the twins would have been the last expected to do so.

The guests' wives also stared, but Persephone, understanding as she was, and of course familiar with the situation, did not, and in fact had the courtesy to start up a conversation then as though nothing had happened. A few of the more knowledgable bodyguards also turned away or bowed their heads politely.

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Giancarlo was brutal. One had hardly caught his breath before he found himself flipped over and set upon by a third customer. The Italian slid himself into One gently, and it even seemed he might continue in such a manner; gradually, though, his pace and his ferocity increased.

It didn't take long for any pleasure the twin had felt to evaporate, and now he squirmed hopelessly. From nowhere, he cried out in pain and alarm, a short, abrupt yelp that he could not hold back. He clutched the sheets and the side of the bed, his subconscious looking for an escape. Something between a whimper and a squeal pushed through his lips. The bed rattled, but One kept his eyes squeezed shut. He was astonished and angered at himself, at the Italian, at the Merovingian, at being in more pain than he could recall ever feeling before.

Giancarlo slowed down sensually and wrapped his fingers through pale dreadlocks; he and his partner breathed deeply. On top of everything, did it have to feel this good? When it hurt so much One's mind went numb, could his body really want more? The Merovingian applauded, as did others. Some laughed.

Though he tried, One could not suppress a moan--a moan that gradually increased in volume until the Italian rammed himself in deep, savagely, and a shout caught in his throat. The man was merciless. Tears again. One's entire body was clenching up, tensed against the pain and the vague pleasure buried underneath. He howled.

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A tremor went through Two's body. "Excuse me," he breathed, stood up, and swept from the hall, ducking swiftly through a side door.

Several eyes followed his progress as he left. Persephone closed her eyes for a moment, pityingly, before turning around to scold several bodyguards who had erupted into mutters about the twin's abrupt departure.

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One redressed himself gingerly, taking his time so he might be left alone for a moment, but the Merovingian and his friends also seemed to be dawdling. The twin kept his gaze down, pretending he couldn't hear the men talking about him, as always. His teeth ground together, but it would be unwise to display any anger at this time.

Finally, after a hearty laugh over a particularly crude joke, the Frenchman yanked the door open, only to find himself face-to-face with the other twin. It was not the first time such an encounter had occured at such a time, and though Two's glower was icy enough to bring another man to his knees, it only provided the Merovingian with material for another joke as he and his guests pushed their way from the room.

The twins held no secrets from one another--were unable to, after all--and were therefore incapable of embarrassment in each other's company. But at times like these, there would always be a certain, separate level of self-loathing for one of them. And of course, the severe discomfort--and not just physical discomfort, which at any rate could be eliminated by phasing, but also mental discomfort, the faint yet persistent dysphoria that always lingered, and of course was always shared between the twins.

One stood shakily and gazed at his brother. Both sighed deeply, softly. Two stared back, expressionless despite being suddenly flooded with information and thoughts and feelings that should not have been his, had he and his twin not been programmed so uniquely and adeptly.

The space between them shrank until, finally, Two was able to lean in and rest his forehead against his brother's. He could feel One relax, but also noticed the distinct odor of sweat and sex.

Two reached up and tenderly laid a hand on One's neck, lacing his fingers into the other's long hair; gently, he traced his brother's jawline with his thumb. For someone looking on, the gesture might be taken as suggestive or erotic, particularly given One's response, which was to shudder slightly and slide a hand inside his brother's jacket for balance. There was no one to look on, though, and both twins recognized the act as one of innocent comfort and support.

Very suddenly, then, as though being woken by a splash of cold water, the twins parted and One phased temporarily while Two went to open the door. They swept from the room in unison, their overcoats flapping as they turned the corner to return to the restaurant.

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**AN**: Thanks for reading. This has been sitting around among my documents for a little while because I don't think it's especially good, but in the end...well, right now I'm high on Starbucks and probably not thinking clearly, so UP IT GOES!


End file.
